


The Pantheon

by itwasamistakeokay



Category: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore
Genre: Ancient Greece, Hermes is depressed, One Shot Collection, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Short Stories, Trauma, Twelve Gods of Olympus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), asexual hermes, drunk hermes, helen of troy (mentioned) - Freeform, hermes has seen some shit, hermes uses they/them, homeless, kinda sad, messenger god, more tags to be added as stories are added, not percy jackson related, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:48:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23452741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itwasamistakeokay/pseuds/itwasamistakeokay
Summary: The Pantheon is a discord role playing server where the participants play Ancient Greek Gods and Goddesses (it's not PJO or Lore Olympus related). This is a collection of stories about the characters within the server (with ties to the original mythology as well as some personal changes and additions).These stories do not need to be read in any particular order, nor is there a set storyline, each story is written to provide background for the characters and why they're being played how they are. Each story will (hopefully) be written by the person who plays the character the story revolves around with their social media tags and stuff included in the notes if you're interested in joining the server or seeing more of that writer's work (or their cosplay 'cause most of us on the server are cosplayers)
Kudos: 6





	The Pantheon

**Author's Note:**

> Written by Gen (who plays Hermes)  
> Social Media:  
> Instagram - @druidiqcosplay or @grillingfrodo  
> Tumblr - @pessimisticlatte

Caduceus held in their hand, Hermes sat atop a grey marble building in Athens and watched the sun rise over the ocean glistening in the distance, painting the world in hues of pink and gold and cerulean. Apollo had begun his trek across the sky for the day, his chariot gleaming as brightly as his smile did when he was feeling particularly mirthful; the memories of their friend made Hermes’ stomach turn in a new sensation of home sick agony. They hadn’t been home to Olympus in years, centuries even, and they weren’t going to kid themself into thinking that they’d be returning any time soon, Olympus was more of a mess than the mortal world and Hermes had long ago decided that they needed to take a break from the neverending Olympian sycophants. 

Arms crossed over their knees as they sat, invisible, on the rooftop, Hermes watched Athena’s city come to life as the day began. They’d never admit it to her, but there was something about being in Athens that made everything feel less chaotic, less...spontaneous, which was a surprising reprieve for the trickster god of messengers. Even the Underworld at this point felt too close to the shining golden city they’d called home since Apollo had brought them home so many eons ago; though Hades was no Zeus and Persephone no Hera, just knowing that the souls of their beloved, long dead mortals may have roamed some distant part of the Underworld made them ache with nausea and nostalgia for a time when things hadn’t weighed so heavily upon them.

Once, they’d been eternally mirthful, full of life and laughter and tricks, but now, everything felt hollow, faked, and no matter how hard they’d tried to shake the feeling, it had lingered like a curse. They’d once been told that the mortals had no need of them, that they had no respect for Hermes as a God or as a divine messenger but Hermes had proved their father wrong, to their own detriment. “Don’t become attached,” were words they’d heard often on Olympus. Mortals didn’t live long, it was true, but Hermes had thought that 40 or 50 years with their mortal friends before they passed into the next life would sate the desire to be with them in their world. How wrong they had been. Once the mortals' time had come to an end, Hermes had remained and had watched as their friends were put to rest before they began the trek to the Underworld to take the new soul to Charon. Those last moments in the company of their friend’s shades had left them weighted, almost as if Poseidon had sunk them down to the deepest place in his realm and tethered them there to suffocate under the pressure.

They’d succumbed to the pressure long ago, it was what had made their days achingly long and their nights painfully quiet. It was what had them hiding from Demeter had they delivered letters to her in her golden fields and sitting invisible as their best friend crossed the sky to bring light to the realm Hermes loved so much. Persephone and Hecate were the only ones they spoke to now, the only Gods who really could; Hades had never had much of a liking for Hermes and the untethered, almost insane state Hermes had been in for the last age had not enamoured the God of the Underworld toward them anymore. 

Gods couldn’t die, that fact had been one that Hermes had been trying to escape, hoping to find a way to blast themselves from existence so that they might spend a single moment with their friends in Elysium...those who had made it there anyway. But no matter how much they drank, they would wake up in the morning with a mild headache that would last a few moments before passing. No matter how much they fought or put theirself in harms way, they came back stronger but not wiser than they had been before. Hermes didn’t know how Hades and Persephone could deal with all the death that surrounded them, they didn’t live in the Underworld as the couple did but even the moments in time they spent there reeked of the friends they had lost and would never regain. The mortal world had the same smell too, but also the smell of life and vigor alongside the rot and decay and broken promises, how many friends had they lost? How many more were they going to see die? How many more nights were they going to spend atop this roof in Athens with a bottle of wine in their hand and a heady, drunken haze over their mind that Dionysus would be proud of? They didn’t know and they didn’t care to know.

Scanning tired eyes across the expanse before them, Hermes felt a shallow breeze lift off the sea and stir the wild, matted brown curls hanging unkempt around their face. They could smell the death on the sea breeze too, the brine and the fear and the echo of unexplored expanses, the one place that didn’t stink of death was Olympus. Olympus, the home Hermes refused to return to because the Gods had not understood their attachment to their mortal friends. Zeus had laughed when Hermes had begged for him not to visit Leda, the mother of Helen of Troy, for they knew what was going to happen once the King of the Gods laid his eyes upon the beauty of the mortal woman. Leda had been their friend, her husband too, but once Helen and her siblings had been born, sired by Zeus (Hermes’ own father), their friends had thrown Hermes from their home and told them never to return. 

Hera had cursed Hermes’ mother to sleep for eternity after bearing them and no matter what pleas Hermes had made, what things they had promised, the Queen of the Gods had refused to wake the poor nymph up from her endless slumber. All they wanted was a moment with their mother, a moment to hear her voice, to feel her fingers in their hair, to know if she was proud of the person...the God, they had become; but Hermes had no power over Hera’s magic and would never be able to lift the curse without the help of the Queen. They visited their mother often in the cave she slept in, they kept her warm in the harshest of winters and cool in the hottest of summers, when spring came they picked bouquets of flowers and placed them in amphorae dotted around the cave, filling the makeshift home with the sweet, cloying smell. None of the other Gods knew that Hermes returned to see their mother as much as they possibly could but, then again, none of them had asked. 

Olympus felt so trivial sometimes, the Gods wrapped up in their affairs and seductions and revenge, Hermes caught in the middle of it all as the eternal bearer of news both good and bad. They delivered word to Hera when Zeus had sired another child; they told Ares of courts in turmoil where he could go to wreak havoc and start wars as he pleased; they carried heartbroken letters between Hades and Persephone when the two were separated in the spring and summer. They didn’t read the messages but not all of them were written, some were given verbally and those were the ones Hermes found most difficult to convey, they’d recently taught themself how to project their voice to the recipient of the message so they didn’t have to witness the almost inevitable fall out and have the messenger, generally quite literally, shot. 

There was only so much someone could take, whether that person be mortal or be a God, and Hermes had long passed the point of how much they could take, how much they could lose, and how much they would hurt. They were the bridge between the mortals and the Olympians but they didn’t feel welcome in either world, not even when it was just them, Apollo, and Dionysus. Each time they’d begged for their mother to be woken, they’d pleaded with the Queen of Gods, the Goddess of family, to give them the one thing they’d craved for as long as they could remember: to be loved unconditionally for the child that they were, for the child they had been, and to have the one thing neither Gods nor mortals had been able to provide: a family.

Hermes had never been one for spending so much time alone, lost in their thoughts, but after Perseus had been killed there had become an allure in being completely and utterly alone, no matter how melancholic it made them feel. Perseus hadn’t been their family, he’d just been a demi-god who had crossed paths with Hermes when Hermes was lost in a sea of anger and confusion; the two had become fast friends and Hermes had helped Perseus in his quest, only to later watch their closest friend (after Apollo) die and leave them worse than how they’d been before the two had met. 

As Apollo’s chariot rose higher in the sky, the wild curls of the blonde teenager standing in it shifting in the winds, a small duck held gently in his arms, Hermes felt their eyes burn with tears unshed as well as the glaring light coming off the chariot as it illuminated the white and grey marble city of Athens. Watching their best friend pass overhead, Hermes placed their caduceus across their lap and sat up, gazing over the city toward the undulating sea beyond. Maybe the Gods weren’t meant to be happy, maybe Olympus was the Gods’ tartarus and the Underworld their Elysium, Hades and those who lived in the Realm of the Dead being the only ones worthy of rest and, occasionally, peace. The constant bickering and back and forth between the Gods had made sure that no matter where Hermes went, everywhere was hell. 

Even sitting atop this roof, in the middle of Athens, the sea yawning out before them and the rolling hills verdant and alive behind them, Hermes felt trapped in the memories of those they had lost and those they had not yet found but too would lose in time. Maybe one day, they’d go home to the golden city and sit in their throne again; maybe one day, they’d laugh and not feel hollow; maybe one day, they’d sit in the company of their friends and watch some new comedy, the fear of losing them long since faded.


End file.
